


Dawn

by circadian_rythm



Series: Fanart and Musings [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Haninan, Haninan x his dragon lady love, Vallaslin, and June, fire and dragons and such, lots of metaphors, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was in the middle of writing more of Pride’s Folly when for some reason my brain decided to go, “Hey, I wonder why Haninan’s vallaslin is orange?” and then this happened and it took a different turn than I had anticipated and I regret nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Looking Glass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867676) by [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite). 



**Dawn.**

Her scales are the color of the sky at dawn.

He traces whirls on her shoulder, fingertips brushing lightly over soft scales that meld into skin like ink bleeding across parchment. She hums appreciatively against his neck, lips moving, mouthing unintelligible words.

Even in the shade of their tent she burns. The soft glow of a dying fire, warm and flickering.

She tastes like daybreak, he thinks. The first rays of sunlight streaking through the night, coloring the sky in a myriad of colors. Warm and hesitant and lingering.

“Ma vhenan,” He breathes, and she drinks the words from his lips. Sunbursts dance across her skin in reply, magic and fire flitting across scales.

Sometimes he thinks she will consume him, with dragon fire on her tongue and smoke in her hair and he the willing sacrifice to her holy pyre.

She burns eternal, fierce and proud and gentle and soothing all at once. She is the afternoon sun turning dry riverbeds into cracked mosaics; she is the white-hot half-forged blade before it is submerged in quenching water. But her flames harm no one. They warm and protect and brighten but they do not hurt.

Not until June is born.

She seems to flicker, like a torch stuttering under a gust of wind. Her skin is flushed and she is burning from the inside out and he fears her own fire will consume her. She regards him through half-lidded eyes and smiles.

Her light dims, humming beneath her skin as she throws back her head to shout. The midwife retracts her hands with a shriek, and when he looks he sees blisters covering her from fingertip to elbow. She shakes her head, healing the skin without a second thought and reaching back toward that molten core.

A final scream that ends in a hiss fading into silence. She lets out a few ragged breaths, chest heaving, and her light is so _dim_.

A cry breaks the silence, but it is not hers. He turns to the midwife and she is holding a small bundle covered in blood and ash. A stuttering candle next to a bonfire. The midwife hands him the bundle—his son, his _son_ , and he presses a kiss to his forehead. He is warm, warm like his mother.

“June…” She croons, brushing a finger across his cheek before he is placed in her arms. “…June…” She checks his fingers and toes, counting them silently, tears standing in her eyes. He wonders if they will turn to steam on her cheeks.

She turns her head, lips seeking his, and he allows himself to burn.

Years later, when magic sparks at his fingertips and he presses them to his forehead, he remembers the taste of dawn.

 

 

 

 


End file.
